Thursday, December 29, 2016

Back in 2008 Clay Shirky flagged the en masse arrival of the digital
photographer in Here
Comes Everybody. I’ve been thinking again recently about my daily obsession with walking the streets and taking photographs. I take photographs and I’m
therefore a photographer, but I’ve never been comfortable with that tag. To me photographers
are people who have fancy equipment, have studied or mastered the art of
composition, know how to compensate for poor light, when to focus close-in or retreat
to the panoramic level and so on. I can do some of these things – as far as a top
of the range digital camera will allow – but the fact is I’m not really
interested in mastering the technical side of photography. I take photographs
sure, but I take them mostly for other reasons, and technical excellence is low
on my list of priorities.

I have been looking for a word that better describes what I do. It
could be something as simple as a visual diarist. It feels like what I do is a
cross between photography and anthropology so perhaps I’m an anthropographer?
And guess what? The word exists. Anthropography is “The branch ofanthropologythat
deals with the actual distribution of the human race in its different
divisions, as distinguished by physical character, language, institutions, and
customs.” While that is close, that is just part of what I do. Then there is
the similar related field of anthrotography:

"Specialising in the science researching the
origins, history, and development of biological characteristics, social
customs, belief systems, and indigenous linguistic variations of humankind. The
anthrotographer takes photographs for the purpose of sharing knowledge and
spreading joy."(https://aspicyphoto.wordpress.com/what-is-an-anthrotographer/) It seems to be a less accepted term than
anthropographer and may have been invented by someone trying to do what I am
exploring – exactly what it is I do with photographs.

Let’s look at the elements of each of these
disciplines and see how well they describe what I think I do – or not.

the actual distribution of
the human race in its different divisions, as distinguished by physical
character, language, institutions, and customs

I do take photographs of people of different
cultures, and try and emphasise different physical characteristics. For example:

The anthrotographer takes
photographs for the purpose of sharing knowledge

This has been a significant drawcard for me.
Based on the assumption that your photos are shared with others – an essential
element of the whole process – I was intrigued early on just how much random
information I picked up from others’ photos, and what others could teach me
about my own. It is common practice to ask the online community for assistance
if for example, you don’t know the name of a bird or flower that you have
photographed. Inevitably in time someone will provide the answer.

The anthrotographer takes
photographs for the purpose of … spreading joy.

This can be the joy of learning; the joy of
sharing photos of a shared experience, or joy in and of itself:

The anthro prefix in these fields of endeavour
denotes the study of humanity. But what then with photos of landscape or nature?

There’s no evidence of people present – deliberately so – so the anthro tag
does not apply to all I do. So something that denotes observation of earth or
nature needs to be part of the description. ‘Geo’ seems an obvious candidate
but geographer is already taken, and I don’t want the anthro aspect completely
sidelined. So what about anthrogeography? It does exist according to Google,
but it seems to have been superseded by anthropogeography - a branch of
anthropology dealing with the geographical distribution of humankind and the
relationship between human beings and their environment.The relationship between human beings and
their environment. This is getting closer. But I want a term that
encompasses observation of humans and the environment or natural world not only
in isolation, where they exist independent of each other, but alsohow they interact with the other.

While trying to decide what it is I do I realise
that it’s about

people

places

the mutual impact people
and places have on the other

And a final aspect that others have been quick to
point out about my photographs – what happens when people leave the scene: the
process of neglect, incremental change, and slow decay. It is a significant theme
in my work but I think it can be included under the third point above.

Anthropogeographer sounds clumsy to me, and if anthrogeographer
has been superseded I could reclaim it and redefine it. Or I could start brand
new with geoanthrographer, but it’s difficult to pronounce.

“So you’re a photographer Michael?”

“No. I’m an Anthrogeographer.”

“What’s that?

“Someone who photographs people and places and how
they interact.”

“Ah…interesting…’ J

I don’t expect to start a new movement. I could
perhaps be accused of being a wanker. But I really do want a term that makes it
clear that what I do is not based on an interest in photography as a technical discipline.
I am much more interested in where photographs can take you; how one might use
them to create a dialogue between us about the nature of existence. So for now,
I’m a anthrogeographer! (This may change
;)

Saturday, December 03, 2016

Tuvalu is a magical place. It’s like I’m smitten. But it’s an
ambivalent relationship. Love the place but can’t wait to leave. Happily
cruising back to Suva on a Pacific Thursday afternoon and feeling content to be
going home to Elizabeth and safety. The remote location and the isolation that
comes with it is hard adjust to. But I’m filled with visions of classic
tropical enchantment. It reminded me of Kuta, Bali in 1973. Narrow roads
through vegetation hiding houses and families and yards. The laughter and noise
of family life wafts through to the road and leaves you with a half sketched
out idea of what life might be like back in there.

But what you can see is an eclectic mix. And not everyone is
going to come to the same conclusion. I see beauty, intrigue, relics,
mysterious pathways that the children disappear into. You can see wrecks of
cars and boats, piles of leftover building materials, empty squashed plastic
bottles, rickety wooden platforms, assorted litter and a general inattention to
tidiness. Basically it’s beauty or mess – both are there in abundance and it’s
your call. You see what you’re looking for.

There’s barely a house on Funafuti that wouldn’t be
classified as a slum or ruin in suburban Australia. Banged together collections
of wood, plastic, corrugated iron, and always with a 4 poster covered wooden platform
in the yard for families to hang out on in fresh air, in the shade, or out of
the rain. Life is essentially held outdoors. There are some proper houses –
wooden boards, louvres, a tin roof perhaps – but they too have the family platform,
the litter, and the rambling dirt tracks winding back from the main drags. And
everything ends at the sea.

On average, Funafuti (Tuvalu’s main island) is about 100
metres wide so you can always hear the sea. The coast too is either a sad
affair littered with ex-engines, left behind thongs or items of clothing on a
charming foreshore that leads to a calm lagoon that is often glass like smooth.
At dusk some make it a ritual to bathe, or in the case of young boys, jump
around like monkeys off the sandbag groyne that’s there to help reclaim land.
Pure unadulterated children in paradise stuff. A joy to behold. And they
happily share it with you the stranger – showing off their best moves and
flashing full faced smiles.

About 100 metres away, just short of the other – ocean –
coast, the 15-40 year olds gather on the town’s runway for the daily sport
carnival of rugby, volleyball and soccer. Barefoot they bound around the warm
tarmac throwing themselves at various balls. All again with copious dollops of
laughter – a signature of Tuvalu. A true tropical paradise.

Wednesday, November 02, 2016

Many of us have seen episodes of Fawlty Towers multiple times. We know and love the
characters. We know the lines. We know the madcap plot twists. Hence the
excited sense of anticipation about how it might translate to the live stage. John
Cleese has taken 3 of his favourite episodes and cleverly reworked them into a
two act stage play.

And
it works. Wonderful comedic writing, zany story lines, quirky characters, and
liberal dashes of good old-fashioned slapstick guarantee that much. And a
well-seasoned cast deliver mostly storng performances in a fun evening of
timeless frivolity.

It
was impossible not to compare with the original – Aimee Horne as Polly was
perfect, as was Paul Bertram as the eccentric and forgetful Major. They could
have walked on to the original set of Fawlty Towers without anyone noticing.
Deborah Kennedy was superb as the deaf and potty Mrs Richards, Blazey Best did
a great job of reminding us just how much of a tasteless tart Sybil is, and Syd Brisbane channelled Manuel beautifully.

Then
of course there was Stephen Hall’s daunting task of taking on the role of Basil
Fawlty. He deserves spades of accolades for simply daring to take on what would
have to be one of the more impossible acts to follow in the history of show
business, and he largely succeeded, especially in the secoind act where he
seemed more comfortable in the skin of the more manic Basil. One could quibble
about aspects of his performance but his ability to realise a believable
character is central to the whole show working and he definitely achieves that.
If we had never seen John Cleese in this role it would be hailed unreservedly
as a great performance. He is not John Cleese. And Cleese’s Basil Fawlty has already
gone down in history as one of the great comic characters of the 20th
century.

Those
who were expecting something more original than a carbon copy of the original
characters, plots and dialogue may be disappointed. And sticking so close to
the orginal begs for comparisons to be made. As one astute observer commented,
it was like going to see a cover band play all of your favourite songs. You
know they’re good – not as good as the original versions - but you go along
anyway to remind yourself how much you love and enjoy all those songs. And so
it was with this production of Fawlty Towers.

The
fantastic set was very true to the original with an added vertical dimension
with both floors of the hotel visible simultaneously. The famous lines were all
there (“Would you like me to move the hotel a little to the left dear?” “Don’t
mind him he’s from Barcelona.”) and it flew by in a flash. Lots of chuckling,
permanent nostalgic grins, but not much uproarious laughter. More like a
comfortable night out with an old friend that you love dearly.

Saturday, March 26, 2016

A couple of weeks ago English comedian Alexis Dubus begrudgingly conceded that he was done with the Adelaide Fringe. He had watched it change into something that no longer met his needs and he no longer wanted to be part of it. At the risk of starting a bandwagon I may have reached the same point with WOMADelaide. And for a veteran who has seen all but one of them and who often said that ‘WOMADelaide is my religion’ this is no small matter. If I did nothing else each year, I always attended this that was the greatest show on earth.

I saw things at WOMADelaide this year that I have never experienced before. Bins were often overflowing with rubbish, stages were named after sponsors, and technical stage problems were common. I can’t be sure but it seems that the only explanation for the technical glitches is that new crew were involved. Novatech? I heard more feedback in the first three days of the festival than I’d heard for the last 10 years. WOMADelaide had raised the bar in many areas, and one of those areas was stage management. Feedback just never happened. When performers were unable to hear themselves in the foldback, it was sorted within 30 seconds or so of a performance getting underway. The sound crews were slick and professional. For some reason this year that standard was let drop and it was sad and embarrassing.

But the main reason for my doubts about whether I’ll attend WOMADelaide again are based upon the music and programming. There is no doubt that over the years the program has been changing incrementally in favour of acts that are essentially bands, and mainstream acts like The Violent Femmes because they pull large crowds. These kinds of acts are primarily designed to get people up and dancing. The D in WOMAD stands for dance, so that’s fine, but it’s about the percentage of these high voltage acts that are now crowding the program.

I’m a WOMADelaide purist. What first attracted me to the festival was the truly exotic – Russia’s Terem Quartet, a lone kora player from Africa, throat singing from Sardinia, Madagascar’s Justin Vali Trio – music you would never hear anywhere else, and where you felt extraordinarily privileged to witness things you otherwise had no access to. Mostly these musical events happened on the small stages where you had the opportunity of a more intimate musical experience. Adelaide music magazine editor and critic Robert Dunstan once wrote “as I stood among the Moreton Bay fig trees with the sun going down listening to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, I found myself thinking ‘I have never been happier’.” These kinds of intimate and exotic musical experiences at WOMADelaide can still happen, but they’re getting harder to find.

The bulk of the program now features what I have taken to calling ‘global funk’. It matters not where the performers come from – Africa, Europe, Latin America, or their Australian based derivatives – all of these bands have percussion and electric guitars, and after a few songs in desultory recognition of their origins, they descend into a frenetic version of global funk played at loud volume and high speed. (It’s interesting at these moments to close your eyes and see if you can pick where the players come from.) It is music designed to whip up dance frenzies and the masses dutifully oblige. But WOMADelaide diehards like me keep seeking that magical moment on the smaller stages where I hear something that I’ve never heard before, and that challenges my musical horizons. And after this year’s event I realised that it is no longer worth the money or the four days trying to find those magical exotic moments. There are too few of them.

WOMADelaide has gone mainstream. It is now mostly about high energy and frantic rhythms.

I can accept that things must change. It has been 24 years after all and nothing stays the same. I understand the need to change the programming to attract new audiences. And organisers would be foolish to continue to cater for the original Boomer types who were there at the beginning because we are beginning to disappear! There is some sadness in the realisation that it may be all over for me and WOMADelaide, but there’s a realistic acceptance too that the beast I fell in love with has changed. As it had to. I am enormously grateful to have had 22 years of musical wonderment. It was an organic experience that WOMADelaide performers frequently commented on, but it is now more about heaving masses and loud electronic rhythms.

In this quest to attract greater crowds WOMADelaide has become more commercial. What was a highly innovative and exotic experience now threatens to sound and feel like ‘just another festival.’ It was more than that once. It has lost its innovative edge.

And so back to Alex Dubus and the Adelaide Fringe. He is saying similar things about the Fringe and that in fact it is fringe no more. It too has caved in to featuring many mainstream acts to bring in the crowds and the strategy has worked. Again in 2016 it was bigger than ever. But perhaps bigger is not best. It seems that perhaps both the Adelaide Fringe and WOMADelaide have lost their ‘fringe feel’ in the quest for larger crowds. They have drifted away from the core mission that initially inspired them. Of course there is still evidence of ‘cutting edge’ acts in both festivals, but it’s about percentages and the truly fringe acts out there on the creative margins are being squeezed out by established artists and bands with bigger sounds. Perhaps it’s time for the artistic directors of these two events to get together and discuss where these festivals are heading. They are both still wonderful events, but they are changing and are being threatened by commercial imperatives. A conversation about their artistic soul and raison d’etre is needed.

Otherwise we may soon be attending the [insert major sponsor] WOMADelaide festival where every stage has a named sponsor.

Five concurrent plays performed simultaneously in a pit of foam rubber on the site of the old Clipsal factory. Sounds like a recipe for total confusion but no, it was surprisingly cohesive.
Four years in the making by drama students from Flinders University this production explores the themes of alienation and information overload in a hyper connected world. It takes a while to sort out who’s talking to who but once that’s achieved it was easy enough to take turns focusing on the conversations that criss-crossed the performance space – in much the same way we’ve learned how to digest the information we want to hear from multiple streams of media in the contemporary world. It’s a cacophony if you try and take it all in, but quite manageable if you split your focus to those parts you find more interesting.

Two online gamers at opposite ends of the space did a great job of remaining connected. A couple who share a pregnancy are not sure how close they want to be. An earnest young man espouses the virtues of the Bahai religion on his YouTube channel, and gets side-tracked into another play when he spots a young woman who he feels is in need of spiritual assistance.

At several junctures the conversations dovetail as if they are on the same wavelength before drifting off again into separation. “We are all connected.” These could be random coincidences or a higher power exercising subliminal control.

It’s an intriguing premiere of a brave concept. Beautifully played, and artfully directed by Nescha Jelk, it subtly increases the level of angst until the various characters are eventually driven to physical closeness in a chaotic finale.

A really enjoyable spectacle and experience. The minimalist lighting was eye-catching and super effective, and there’s a delightful irony in the fact that this fable of modern life takes place in a relic of an industrial era that’s coming to an end.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

Wikipedia tells me Exquisite Corpse is an old parlour game where people used to take turns writing stories by building on the work of the previous player. For this project the idea was extended to include twelve composers and two visual artists. Each composer built on the last piece of musical notation from the previous participant to create a collaborative score, and the visual artists did similarly.

It is important to understand the collaborative nature of this work to appreciate the final product. If it at times seems fragmented it’s because no one composer had an idea of what the final piece would sound like. Given the circumstances, it’s remarkable to say that it did by and large come across as a unified work, and that’s due to the artistry of the Zephyr Quartet. Two violins, a viola and cello bow, pluck and strum their way through a frequently changing soundscape that has many moods. I preferred the moments where all instruments were being bowed in traditional fashion but the experimental passages were often more rhythmic, and it was intriguing guessing where it would go next.

And then there were the visuals. Projected on screen throughout were a series of bizarre drawings of a surrealist world that reminded me of the animations of the type that the Monty Python team made famous. The Python versions we know were harmless fun and devoid of meaning. But what of these? Did they mean anything? Were they connected to the music is some way, and if so, how? While quite charming and often amusing (it didn’t seem appropriate to laugh) I ultimately found them intrusive. Rather than complement the musical score, I was being distracted. They were too assertive; too pronounced in their presence.

What worked well were the coloured tubes that snaked around the stage and emitted various hues and frequencies to create a pleasing aura of colour and movement around the quartet. For me, this was all the visual effect I needed.

It was like being at two performances – one musical and the other visual. I could enjoy one or the other, but not both simultaneously. But kudos to the Zephyr Quarter for this brave idea – musically it largely worked for me, but overall it felt like a metaphor for modern distracted life: there’s just too much going on.

Saturday, March 19, 2016

In truth John Cleese and Eric Idle could have served up anything and I’d have been happy. I just wanted to pay homage to these comic masters who together with other members of the Monty Python team turned comedy on its head 40-plus years ago. The good news is they are still masters of comedy.

Things began unconventionally of course as we hear Cleese muttering that we don’t have to start on time and we can just show them some videos. So we got five minutes or so of a greatest hits collection of some of their best work before the stars of the show sat down for a relaxed chat about how the Python crew met, and the early shows they worked on with Peter Sellers and David Frost et al.

They then swapped stories about their favourite sketches from the past – complete with video clips. It was fascinating to hear them critique each other and comment on what they each considered was their best work.

Two live sketches followed and showed they haven’t lost any of their comic timing and sense of the absurd. Great stuff.

After interval John Cleese talked about the nature of comedy, what makes people laugh, and his love of the dark side of the genre. A string of politically incorrect jokes targeting various racial groups followed and Cleese drew spontaneous applause when he lamented the inability of contemporary society to distinguish between what is just teasing in good humour, and what is racist and mean spirited.

Eric Idle returned guitar in hand to demonstrate what a capable player and very fine songwriter he is – even if his songs are by his own admission a little on the filthy side.

They joined forces once more for a Q&A session with the audience and provided quick and witty off the cuff answers, and more good natured banter about the other Pythons – especially Michael Palin! Contrary to what is sometimes reported it is clear they have a great deal of respect and affection for the other members of the Python team, but that doesn’t mean they don’t make jokes about them at their expense!

The show predictably closed with the song that has become the most requested song at British funerals and we all sang along karaoke style.

An insightful, entertaining, and very funny show chock full of stories, jokes, sketches, videos, and songs that revealed their enormous comic talent. The Python era may have been their peak of commercial popularity, but they are still quite simply very funny guys who love making people laugh. “Say no more.”

Thursday, February 25, 2016

Vin Garbutt is one of that wonderful breed of British folk
singers who effortlessly combine comedy and music. They have you laughing away
at their stories between songs and then melt your heart with delicious melodies
and the joys and sorrows of the people they sing about.

For over 40 years Vin has been travelling the world
mesmerising audiences with an extraordinary voice, an endless swag of wonderful
songs, and an infectious warmth and love for humanity. In what could well be
his last Australian tour he seemed anxious to give thanks to all those who have
enabled his extended career.

The bulk of his songs have always featured stories about the
little guy – the people who have worked hard or who life has treated harshly and
who have no voice of their own. He has a knack for uncovering such stories,
mostly from his native UK, and crafting songs around them. Like the miner who
became a seamstress when he lost his job in the mines (Silver and Gold); the former musician from Iran who became a
teacher (Teacher From Persia), the
retired steel worker who took to growing vegetables in his tiny allotment (Man of the Earth). Stories like this
have been a driving force behind his success. The purpose of Vin Garbutt’s
version of folk music is to bring these stories to light. And to entertain of
course.

And he does it such a joyous way that there’s nothing gloomy
about it. Life can be tough but there’s always a funny story around the next
bend. For Vin Garbutt life’s a wonderful and melancholy thing.

His quirky on stage demeanour is cheeky and endearing, and
his care for his audiences and the gratitude for the life he leads is abundant.

“All the very best” he says every time he raises his glass
to take a drink. Right back at you Vin. You’re a treasure.

Saturday, February 20, 2016

“Turns contemporary stand-up on its head” – yep. I’ve never
seen or experienced anything quite like this. The promo continues: “you will
never be the same.” Big call. Not quite true, but The Longing Lasts Longer made my brain work overtime. “Thinking is
hard people” Penny Arcade said as she implored us to stay with her while she
expounded on her unique take of the universe. You will likely be confronted
with phrases you’ve never heard, and ideas you’ve never thought about. This is
performance art. Intellectual comedy. And it’s been a long time coming.

Initially using New York City, her home of 50 years, as a
metaphor for all Western society she tells us how it’s changed. How it has
become gentrified and commodified. She tracks through the decades from the 60s
onwards with reference to the friendship and work she’s done with famous
friends, and then devotes a lot of time explaining how anyone born post 1980
was born into the fog of consumerism. It would be hard for anyone under 35 not
to feel targeted, but Penny Arcade is not blaming then. She blames their
parents.

Essentially this is a 75 minute monologue on how one
intelligent, articulate and entertaining person who dares to take risks, sees
the world. It’s all done against a
soundtrack of instrumental segments of very familiar tunes from “four decades
of pop culture”. Occasionally lyrics are left in so Penny can inject her own
commentary into the lyrics as she does with a couple of songs from Van Morrison
and it feels like she was rapping with him – to great effect.

How much you enjoy this show is going to depend very much on
whether you are prepared to think, really think, and whether or not you agree
with her view of the world. I agreed with most of what she was saying – it was
revelatory and refreshing – so I loved it.
Cherish individuality and authenticity. Never lose your sense of
adventure, and above all, love yourself. If you’re listening you may end up
loving Ms Penny Arcade.

Tuesday, February 09, 2016

"Thinking of our
virtual learning Michael. Did it ever take off? Missed those wonderful sessions
with the rest of the world.

Did virtual learning
ever take off?"

It certainly did. Virtual learning can mean different things but
Kate is referring to those international events hosted by the Australian vocational
education and training (VET) sector where scores of people, and sometimes
hundreds, joined live virtual classroom (webinar) sessions from across the
world to discuss educational issues. They were enormously popular and most
everyone who joined those sessions would testify to their effectiveness. The
model worked brilliantly for professional development.

I always found it
frustrating that the same model never really worked for classroom delivery in
the VET sector. It got some traction in higher education, but even there the
predominant model turned out to be the one way non-collaborative lecture style
webinar offered by tools like Echo 360.

It seems that there
were too many hurdles and ideological leaps for the average teacher to teach
their classes this way. What’s interesting is that the corporate word adopted
this model with gusto and today virtual meetings for companies with a
distributed workforce is commonplace.

Virtual learning is also
used as a synonym for online learning. Online learning is everywhere these
days, but the model that has been widely adopted is essentially the set and
forget model that offers little real interaction and almost no real time
virtual sessions. Many people who were employed as e- or online learning
specialists in professional development (ie people like me) have been discarded
and deemed unnecessary. The prevailing model is still static content plus quizzes.
It was decided that nothing more was necessary.

So people like myself
who were encouraging a richer form of elearning that emphasised collaborative
approaches with a synchronous real time component are left bemused that we
spent so much of our professional lives promoting a model we knew was powerful
and effective but in the end was deemed superfluous. It still sits uneasily
with me. It feels sometimes as if I wasted my time; that my belief in this
richer model was misguided and naïve. But I’m left with the memory, like Kate,
that some remarkable and deep learning occurred in those virtual sessions
sponsored by the Australian Flexible Learning Framework. But we failed to in
our quest to have that model become part of standard delivery.

Thursday, January 28, 2016

I read today – I think on the ubiquitous Facebook – that if
you don’t write about what you think then no one knows what you think. That
seems particularly pertinent to me now in the ‘post permanent job -
pre-retirement’ phase of my life. I was an educator. I didn’t appreciate till
it was all over how much I enjoyed talking to groups of people. Classes. Of
course the purpose of the classes was not for me to talk, but teachers do. Inevitably at regular intervals you got to talk about what you believed and
thought. It’s part of the bonding process that needs to happen between educator
and students. Students need to get to know you and trust you before they accept
what you say as having value. So they ask you questions. That doesn’t happen
to me much anymore J

My life now has long gaps where I can’t talk to groups
of people. I rarely now have classes. And I find myself wanting to say things
when I don’t have a ready-made audience. So it’s a good time to start writing
again. There have been multiple occasions over the last 18 months where I’ve
wanted to say things about all manner of topics: the state of the Australian
VET system, the whole sorry Islamist phenomenon, the continuing role of the
Internet in upending life as we know it, the state of Australian political life
and its corruption by the major parties, the secrets to effective management (I
have just been reading Fullan on change), the drift towards the public
disclosure of every facet of life in social media, why I don’t want to do that,
how social media has become mainstream and has consequently lost its sense of
innovation and challenge….I could go on.

I used to write a lot. I used to write dutifully for about
30 minutes each day. That’s how these pieces came into being. It used to be
called journalling, or keeping a diary. As someone once commented, I blogged, as
many others did, before blogging was a thing. Along the way I got waylaid by
images. I became entranced by the daily posting of photos on Flickr – a disease
I caught from, and am eternally grateful to, Alan Levine. The 365 project he suggested –
posting a photo for each day of the year – changed my life. I became a person
who preferred to express and share their life with images. It has been a joy
and a revelation about the power of random serendipity. (see more here). I’ve
come to realise that what I have been doing with the posting of images of my
daily life is in some sense trying to make meaning of my world.

Making meaning is a common concept in many disciplines.
Humans by default try and make meaning of what is happening around them, and if
for whatever reason that ability or opportunity to make meaning is denied us we
are not at peace. It is not a conscious process; it is just what we do if we
are a healthy functioning citizen. Apart from the field of linguistics and
language learning I always struggled with this concept of making meaning. I
wasn’t sure what it was or if it was even necessary. It’s one of the many
insights that appear to accompany the process of getting older and
contemplating one’s own life coming to an end. (No I'm not dying!) I do now try and make meaning
out of things; for me now it is occasionally a conscious process. I’m no longer
just satisfied to just do or experience something. I want to explore why I am
doing it; I want to know what it means.

It crystallised for me very clearly when I watched the
Lazarus video from David Bowie on the day he died. It was inspiring to watch
this work from someone who, though dying, was intent on making meaning of existence
and what was happening to him for the entertainment and cultural enrichment of
others. Through art. Reinterpreting the last days of his life to make it more
powerful and leave us all with an instructive culture artefact rather than just
tears and sadness.

I could go on…..

..... but before I go I just want to acknowledge and thank my dear friend and colleague Stephan Ridgway for the amazing work he did in the Australian elearning arena over the last 15 years. Stephan today became another casualty of an Australian VET system that is methodically disposing of anyone with a sense of innovation and who might dare to do things differently. Today was Stephan's last day at work for Sydney Institute of TAFE. As Robyn Jay wrote, "with grace he goes."